xXTender SugarXx The Fires Live On
by ShadowsGirl101
Summary: Hostage and her child are back. Life has begun a new. One where Hostage can live without fear. Alessa has placed a new danger upon their heads. Silent Hill is changing. The rules of hell have also changed.


_**XxTender Sugar; The fires live on. **_

_**You're Not Here**_

Light gently frittered in the dry gray blinds of the room. Dust was on all. There was a bed. The fabric had a soft floral print that was faded from age. If you looked around the room you could see a broken down bureau with a door gently hanging off the hinge. All was quiet except for a small noise that came from across the room. The floor planks remained in tack but were ripped up in some places. There a door was opened slightly the paint peeled and chipped off in places. Inside the door there was a small bathroom. Black and white floor tiles lay on the the floor broken in some places. There was a small toilet but that's not where the sound came from. On the bathtub. The side closest to the wall. There was a small wooden antique radio where soft music emanated against the broken emerald back splash of the bathroom.

'Blue sky to forever,  
green grass blows in the wind, dancing  
It would be much better a sight with you, with me,  
If you hadn't met me, I'd be fine on my own, baby  
I never felt so lonely, then you came along, '

A pale hand reached out of the bathtub and slowly turned the knob on the radio. The music's volume decreased. The hand receded.

A monster with ceramic tinted skin lay in the tub. Her black hair had grown out some now long enough to touch her shoulders. The duct taped monster sat up. She leaned her back against the tub. Half heartily she climbed out of the tub. She stood to her one leg the other still broken and damaged. She limped into the main room. The Hostage opened the blinds carefully. The foggy streets of Silent Hill lay down below. She let the blind go and limped toward the bed. It had been peaceful here. She listened to the quiet. Click. Click. Click. A shadow went past the bottom of the door that lead to a dark deep hate filled hallway. She heard a loud slash which made her jump. A nurse. A nurse had just lost it's life. The doorknob turned. The door opened slowly and a man in a Pyramid came through the door. There was no fear. This was not the father. The Hostage was happy that her now overgrown son had come. He. The son, now surpassed his father. He was bigger and stronger. The son dropped a huge saw toothed sword to the floor. Hostage walked toward him as the child shut the door. She wrapped her arm around his torso unable to reach his neck any longer. The pyramid purred and returned the embrace.

Hostage laid on the bed as she watched her son look out the window.

THUD. A huge noise erupted from the hallway. The son picked up his mighty weapon. He was ready to protect his mother at all cost. He waited. They both did. The son approached the door when it came in with a crash. A huge blade which impaled the child. The Hostage screamed and limped to her son. The blade pulled from his chest. She got on her knees and felt him. She cried for him. Her one arm pulling on her son's shoulder the Hostage looked toward the door. In the frame stood a man. A huge man much mightier than her son. His sword drenched with the blood of her young. The Hostage rocked back and forth the black silhouette against her gray field of sight. A hand reached in from the doorway. Gloves. Two fingers molded and deformed together. Hostage screamed. He was dead. The father. The tormentor was dead. This was not real. She put her head in the crook of her cold son's neck. She looked back up. Creak. The floor's disseminated the sound of his weight as he took several slow steps forward standing over the son and mother. No. No. No. She shook her son hoping to get him up. The mighty man raised his sword yet again at the small family.

She screamed. As the blood of her young tore against her flesh. The sword stuck free from his back. He let go of his sword and went to her. His hand reached for her as she scooted backward from the murderer. Her back hit the wall. His hand wrapped around her neck as he lifted her into the air. The man in the Pyramid turned his head to see her through his grates. The man in the Pyramid emanated this inhuman screech. It made Hostage's head ring and she felt it beat on her eardrums. His free hand grabbed onto her skin.

Scream.

Scream.

Scream.

I dare you to do something other than scream.

Hostage thrashed and screamed. She felt her head being held. Then she felt shaken. She shot up. The child had his tongue writhed around his mothers neck as he tried to console her. Hostage Whimpered and reached out rubbing her hand against his pyramid. She cried and wrapped her arm around his neck and screeched into her son's chest.

A nightmare?

They went to check.

The body of the man in the pyramid still stood where it was once left. The spear still to his neck. Cobwebs had grown on the spear and his body it had been so long. The family of two left. They traveled the long misty streets. Something was coming they felt it.

Something struck the Hostage in the head. It was cold and wet. Then it struck the son. He looked up. This was an unusual phenomenon. Little to their knowledge that this would start the hell down spiral.

For when it rained in Silent Hill

Hell was on overspill.

Hostage held her chest. The son looked toward his mother and helped her along. The young son looked toward the side of the street where the subway was. This way was shorter and he could get his mother to safety quicker. He always considered her safety. He looked toward her. His law saw toothed blade dragged behind him. He motioned to her and led her to the subway. Hostage felt the rail and stood at the top for several seconds. She quivered. It struck her like a huge tidal wave. Fear wavered over her. She was truly scared. Fear shook to her bones. She did not wish to go into this dark unstable true hell. The streets were hot enough from the fires. Imagine underground. She backed away. The son looked at her. He took her hand and he pulled her into the underground. His hand reassured her.

Descend.

Down below the air was thick and hot. Musty. The darkness engulfed them and swallowed them whole. The son could not see an inch in front of his pyramid. This affected Hostage none. She was blind anyway. The son stepped carefully. He jolted when he stepped on a piece of board. He pressed on. She cringed. Her hairs standing on end. The son halted. The screeches of his sword halted. In the distance they heard scathing. An echo perhaps? The son held to his mother keeping her close as he crept on.

She heard a low hiss. An animal. A deformed animal hissed in anger that the mighty son of Pyramid Head was here. It hissed as a defense. The son stopped again. The echo of his sword continued. It seemed louder. The Hostage looked forward. The son looked to his mother who was blind by sight but not sense. The Hostage stood still, she wheezed from fear and pushed her breathing down to quiet herself. Grey. Grey. Black. She stared at the black patch. She made a muffled sound. She had alerted her son.

The child now considered this route a mistake. Yet, it was too late for that now. Out of no where came a loud ear splitting cry. A scream. The son held his mother only to realize it was not her screaming. The Hostages body shook. Such an in-human cry. It shook her bones. Yet. So familiar. It echoed. The cry continued like a siren from hell. The cry so loud and deafening. The ground shook. Hostage screamed with it. Her body consumed with fear. The child sunk to the ground his hearing flooded with the roars. His senses blurred and dizzy. The roar ceased. Then. It came. The fears and manifestation of one lost so long ago. His job not yet complete.

Clang.

Clang.

Thunk.

Scrape.

The pattern repeated.

The Hostage held the child's helmet. Helping him to his feet. Out of nowhere the subway lit up with red light. The color of blood. The son looked around utterly confused by the hue. Then. He saw it. Him

Father.

He was dragging himself slowly as if he had been asleep for hundreds of years. His body in mid-cross of undergoing a huge metamorphosis. He was bigger. His muscles bulged, veins showed through his pale skin. His butcher apron ripped and torn barely covering the frame. He stopped. He raised a gloved hand. His two deformed fingers pointed toward the Hostage. He. The mighty man had followed the scent of his property. He wheezed. His hand slowly dropped only to let out another deafening roar. The small family clung to each other for support. The son looked up and stepped forward out of mother's grasp to protect her. The father wheezed again and made a loud panting noise from inside his helm. It looked like he himself, The executioner had been through hell.

He stepped forward dragging his left leg behind himself. He had limp. The son threw his jagged saw blade in front of himself giving warning to the father. He kept coming. Step by step. Each one looked weighted in the deepest pain. The fathers mighty sword dragged behind slowly now rusted and covered in grime. He raised it slowly. The two pyramid monsters faced one another.

The father raised his hand once more and pointed toward the mother. In a gurgle of mismatched groans he turned his wrist then the two fingers pulled in and out again in a sort of motion telling her to come to him. The son raised his sword for a blow.

Spark's collided.

The two swords were caught in the cross hair. The son pushed harder on his blade wanting to end this. He wanted their suffering to cease, for all of this to stop! The father was still strong. Stronger than what this simple woman bore. He pushed. The swords disconnected sending the son backward. The son pushed himself to his feet. He looked over his shoulder to his mother. He made loud groans telling mother to flee and run. The Hostage stood still, disobeying her blood.

The father took this to advantage and performed a cheap blow through the son's stomach. The Hostage screamed as the Son tumbled backward onto the concrete flooring. She fell to the ground and felt him. She felt the hole and the bleeding. The man in the Pyramid. The true over-castor, the father. He placed his hand on Hostages shoulder and pulled her from the son. She screeched. This Hostage was not the same. She was stronger now. She would not be put through that hell again!

She swiped her nails caught in the skin of the fathers shoulder. The man let out the horrible scream. She pulled trying to free her nails. With it came a chunk of the man's rotten flesh. He threw her to the ground. She recoiled climbing backward dragging her broken leg with her. She climbed over the child and made an animistic growling. She was claiming her son. The son slowly moved his head to the left. His father letting out that horrible scream. The Hostage cringed. The father took three steps closer. Then, Hostage screamed back at him. She stood up slowly but surely. He screamed at her again. Hostage took the next step. She got close to him no longer afraid since the encounter with her nightmare. He wheezed. The executioners body in horrible shape. All was quiet except for his harsh breathing. He held out a shaking temperamental hand. His hand shook with such vigor she thought he was going into seizure. The Hostage stepped back refusing to take his hand. He threw down his shaking arm.

He would not be betrayed. The Hostage stood still as the man in the Pyramid turned slowly as if he would leave. Out of nowhere the hunter became hunted. Three groaners pelted on the executioner. He screeched as they took him down. Hostage jolted as she heard the animals. She listened to the ripping of flesh.

She was faced with choice.

The dogs slowly back away when they heard the sound. The sound of ownership. They whimpered as they back away. The man in the pyramid lifted his head. It was she who claimed ownership. Her breath was quick and loud.

The executioner had been forgiven

For torture.

For rape.

For all.

He had been forgiven.

The Hostage bent to her son taking care of his stomach wound. He whined in pain but was hushed by the mother. The executioner looked on his breathing still harsh. He could not process why she saved him. The Hostage finished stitching. She rubbed her sons stitched belly. She stood after making him continue to lay. She slowly limped to him; the executioner. She dropped to her knees and felt his wounds. She used the same needle she used on the son. He still shook and wheezed.

You lie silent there before me  
Your tears may mean nothing to me now  
The wind howling at the window  
The Love you never gave  
I give to you...

You really don't deserve it...

But now, There's nothing you can do.

So sleep. In your only memory...Of me.

She firmly pressed on his chest forcing the air out of his lungs. The executioner looked around the dark red subway. His tongue slicked from his pyramid. It wrapped it's self around her arm and squeezed. She turned her head to him and looked at his empty self. He was without soul. She continued working. He wheezed and sputtered out what sounded as a cough. She was not sad. She was not mourning. His dry tongue went to her neck. She looked at him again, her work nearly complete. He wheezed and raised a hand to her. He held it out. The glove stained with red of blood.

The son did not understand his mother's actions.

He and his mother drug the executioner from the deepest part of hell and unto the streets. To the pharmacy. The son recognized it. The mother pulled him in and they laid the father unto the floor. She checked his stitching once more. She stood to leave. The executioner howled. She turned back to him as his hand slipped up to reach her. Once again the blood stained glove held out to her. She ignored him and turned to leave. He made the lowest agonizing call she had ever heard. Worse yet than his screams in the subway. He wanted to be nursed and shown love.

He had love he never gave. Now he wanted to receive.

She looked toward his hand. Her fingers brushed his palm again. He quickly shut his hand catching it. He squeezed. He wheezed his breath uneven. His fingers rubbed against the hand. After a few moments Hostage pulled her hand away. The executioner quieted as if asleep. She put his hand on his chest. She pushed out of the pharmacy with her son being sure to board it back up. As they walked back to the old hotel the son grabbed his mothers hand.

If you wish to be forgiven.

Perhaps you should have never committed those sins.

Now, you pay in loneliness.

Back in the pharmacy. The executioner slept on. His mind being bended in various forms, rearranging his way of thinking. His broken soul begins to mold in the strangest of ways. His body in deepest slumber as his internal being was tore and reassembled.

Don't be lonely.

Even when one is as dark as to kill and torture, somewhere. They are still loved.

They will always receive such love.

Alessa was an execption.


End file.
